Lyria's POV
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, golden rays of sunlight spilled across the expansive courtyard of the palace, casting a warm glow that danced upon the cobblestones. Each step I took toward the training grounds sent a thrill through my chest, my heart beating with a fervor that felt almost unnatural. It wasn't the anticipation of the day's training that had me so worked up; it was the figure already present in the yard.
Raven stood at the center of the training area, her presence commanding and focused. A wooden sword was firmly gripped in her steady hands, the sunlight glinting off its polished surface. She exuded an aura of power and control, her posture impeccable—back straight, shoulders squared, radiating a calm confidence that seemed to envelop her like a protective shield. With each subtle movement, her short black hair swayed gently, a stark contrast against the loose white shirt she wore. The fabric failed to conceal the sinewy muscles that lay beneath, a testament to countless hours of rigorous training.
I watched as she raised her sword, her voice clear and authoritative as she explained something to Cara, her training partner. The way she articulated each point, her calm demeanor unwavering, made it seem as though she were not merely instructing but inspiring.
She was strong. She was calm. She was beautiful.
A lump formed in my throat as I swallowed hard, a mix of admiration and something deeper stirring within me. How could one person embody so many qualities that left me both in awe and slightly intimidated? I took a moment to brace myself, knowing I had to gather my thoughts and step into the arena—not just as a trainee, but as someone who aspired to match the very essence of the woman before me.
As I approached the training grounds, the soft crunch of gravel beneath my feet broke the morning's stillness. Just then, Raven turned at the sound of my footsteps, and I caught a glimpse of her expression—an almost imperceptible lightness that flickered across her face.
"Good morning, Princess," she greeted, a small smile gracing her lips that sent a rush of warmth through me. "You're early."
I hesitated, caught off guard by her brightness. "I—I wanted to warm up," I replied, forcing the words out with a confidence I didn't feel. The truth, however, was far more complicated. Sleep had eluded me the night before, my mind restless and tangled in a whirlwind of excitement and anxiety. I was overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions I was reluctant to name, each one swirling just beneath the surface.
Raven approached me, her movements fluid and purposeful. She extended her hand, offering me a wooden training sword, its familiar weight reassuring as I took it from her grasp. "Then let's begin," she said, her voice steady and encouraging.
As her fingers brushed against mine in the exchange, a jolt of warmth shot through me, a sensation both electrifying and grounding. I felt my heart race, nearly leaping out of my chest, as if it were trying to voice the myriad of feelings I struggled to contain. In that fleeting moment, the world around us faded—the sun-drenched courtyard, the whispering breeze—until it was just the two of us, suspended in a shared reality.
"Are you ready?" she asked, her gaze locking onto mine, filled with an intensity that sent a shiver racing down my spine.
I nodded, swallowing the tumult within me, determined to channel my nervous energy into the training ahead. With Raven by my side, I felt a flicker of hope—a chance to grow, to challenge myself, and perhaps, to discover the strength I didn't yet know I possessed.
"Your stance first," Raven instructed, her voice calm yet firm. "Show me what you remember."
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and focused on the task at hand. I had practiced this countless times, yet nerves fluttered in my stomach like restless birds. Feet apart, knees bent, sword raised—simple enough, right?
But as I positioned myself, I could feel Raven's keen gaze assessing my every move.
"No," she murmured gently, stepping behind me, her presence both supportive and intimidating.
And then it happened—her hands touched my shoulders, and the world around me dimmed. I felt a rush of heat enveloping me, my thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.
She adjusted my grip on the sword, guiding my arms with a precision that made my heart race. Her fingers brushed against my skin as she shifted my feet and aligned the angle of my hips, her breath warm against my ear.
"Relax," she whispered, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.
Relax? How could I possibly relax when she was so close, her touch igniting sensations I had never experienced before? My heart thundered in my chest, drowning out any rational thoughts.
"Y-you're too close," I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper, panic spilling from my lips before my brain could intervene.
Raven froze, her hands stilling as confusion flickered across her features. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
The question sent a wave of embarrassment crashing over me. "No!" I exclaimed, perhaps too vehemently. "I mean—yes—no—just—please ignore me!" The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, each one deepening my mortification.
I wanted nothing more than to collapse into a puddle and disappear, the ground swallowing me whole.
Raven blinked, her brow furrowing in perplexity. "All right… let's continue," she finally said, her tone regaining its steadiness.
With that, I could feel the tension in my body shift, a mixture of relief and lingering embarrassment coursing through me. As she resumed her guidance, I tried to focus on the training, reminding myself that I was here to learn. Yet, even as we moved through the motions, the warmth of her touch lingered, a constant reminder of the proximity that both thrilled and unnerved me.
She stepped in front of me and demonstrated basic swings.
Precise. Powerful. Effortless. Beautiful.
I was supposed to copy her.
Instead, I stared.
"Princess," Raven said.
"Yes—Raven—I mean—yes, what?!"
"Stop looking at me and focus on the sword."
I nearly dropped the weapon.
"W-why would I be looking at you ?" I squeaked.
"You've been staring for five minutes," she said calmly. "Are you tired?"
"No! No, I'm fine!"
I'm dying, but fine!
Cara, who had been standing beside me holding a wooden sword, had been silent the whole time—until she suddenly burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter.
Raven sighed. "Focus," she said, stepping closer to both of us. "Try copying my movements. Slowly."
I lifted my sword.
Swung.
Missed the stance.
Almost tripped—
Raven grabbed my arm before I hit the ground.
Her hand wrapped around my wrist, steady and warm.
My face burned so hot I probably looked sunburned.
Why was this happening to me?!
Just when I thought the day couldn't possibly take a turn for the worse, the unmistakable sound of cheerful voices echoed through the training grounds.
"Princess Lyria! Good morning!"
A chill crept down my spine at the sound of that exuberant greeting. My heart sank as I turned to see Leonhart and Leora approaching the gate, a palace servant trailing behind them like a shadow. It seemed their plan was to "visit the princess before today's tour," a phrase that dripped with insincerity.
Leonhart strode in with an air of confidence, his perfect smile flashing like a beacon. "Training? Impressive, Princess," he remarked, his voice smooth, as if he were bestowing a great honor upon me. "Perhaps I could show you a few techniques myself."
I forced a polite smile to mask my discomfort. "That's… very kind, Prince Leonhart, but—"
I didn't get the chance to finish my sentence. My attention was suddenly seized by a shift in the atmosphere. Leora had stopped walking, her gaze locked onto Raven with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
The change in her expression was alarming; her eyes widened with a predatory hunger, like a hawk spotting its unsuspecting prey. She glided past me with an air of self-importance, her focus solely on Raven, as if I were nothing more than an inconsequential piece of furniture in her path.
"Oh, Raven," she breathed, her voice a sultry whisper that dripped with false admiration. "You look stunning today."
Raven, caught off guard, stared at Leora blankly. "Do I? I look the same as yesterday and every day," she replied, her tone flat, betraying no hint of flattery.
"Exactly," Leora purred, her smile widening as she leaned closer, an unsettling glint in her eyes.
I felt my teeth clench involuntarily at the scene unfolding before me. The familiarity with which Leora spoke to Raven, the way she seemed to relish every moment of this encounter—it was infuriating. The contrast between their interactions felt like a stark reminder of my own insecurities, of the growing tension that seemed to coil tighter around my chest with each passing second.
The weight of the situation pressed upon me, and I fought to maintain my composure. This was supposed to be a day of training and growth, but now I felt like an outsider in my own life, watching as someone else basked in the attention I so desperately craved.
As I stood there, torn between the desire to defend Raven and the fear of drawing attention to myself, I realized that today would be far more complicated than I had anticipated.
Leora stepped closer to Raven, a boldness about her that made my skin crawl. She was blatantly invading Raven's personal space, an audacious move that felt like a challenge. "You should spar with me today," she declared, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "I want to see your strength up close."
Raven, ever composed, replied in her usual calm manner, "I'm sorry. I can't."
Leora blinked in surprise, her confidence momentarily shaken. "Why not?"
Raven's answer came without hesitation. "I'm training the princess."
Leora's expression shifted as she slowly turned toward me, a sweet yet poisonous smile creeping across her lips. "Oh, well, she doesn't mind if you take a little break… do you, Princess?"
The sudden spotlight felt blinding, and I froze, all eyes turning to me.
If I said yes, I knew exactly what would happen: Leora would get exactly what she wanted. Raven would be drawn into a sparring match with her, and I would be left feeling like a ghost haunting my own training session. I could almost hear my heart pounding in my ears as panic washed over me.
But if I said no, I would risk offending an influential noble family, and the repercussions of that could ripple through the court like a storm.
I forced myself to smile, preparing to speak—
But before I could gather my thoughts, Raven stepped in first, her voice steady and unwavering. "If you want to join us," she said calmly, "you may. I'm sure Princess Lyria won't mind."
Once again, all eyes turned to me, the weight of their expectations heavy on my shoulders.
Leora smirked, her expression almost gleeful. "Are you sure, Princess? You don't want to keep Raven all to yourself… do you?"
The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and I choked, trying to find my footing amidst the rising tide of embarrassment and frustration. "N-No! That's not— That's not what this is!" I stammered, my voice betraying the turmoil inside me.
Cara, watching the entire exchange from her perch on a nearby barrel, nearly fell off in a fit of laughter, her amusement only adding to my humiliation.
Raven frowned slightly, her attention shifting back to Leora. "Leora. Step back if you don't want to train."
"Well," Leora replied brightly, undeterred, "then I want to join." She turned to me, a calculated smile on her face. "May I borrow some training clothes?"
Before I could respond, she pressed herself against Raven's side—shoulder to shoulder—her smile shifting to something more intimate. "I want to know you better," she whispered, her tone deceptively soft. "Maybe become close."
Raven didn't react; she simply turned back to me, her demeanor unflappable. "Go get ready. We'll wait."
Leora beamed triumphantly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she left with a maid, leaving me to grapple with the chaos she had sown.
I placed my hand over my pounding heart, scowling at the retreating figures. Cara leaned in closer, a teasing smirk on her lips. "You look like you're about to explode from jealousy. Want me to drag her away from Raven for you?"
I inhaled sharply, shaking my head. "No… I'm fine. She's a guest. She'll leave tomorrow."
Cara rolled her eyes, unconvinced. "Sure, but that doesn't mean you have to let her walk all over you."
I bit my lip, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The day had begun with promise, but now it felt like I was caught in a web of tension, each thread pulling tighter as Leora's presence loomed like a shadow over my training. I had to find a way to reclaim my space, to remind everyone—including myself—who I was.
Leora returned shortly after, her presence a bright, almost blinding addition to our training session. We resumed our drills, moving through the motions with a practiced ease, but I found it increasingly difficult to focus. After about an hour of intense practice, we took a short break, the air thick with unspoken tension.
Leonhart approached me, his usual arrogance on full display. "Princess," he said, brushing back his golden hair with a flourish, as if he were rehearsing for a grand stage. "Allow me to show you a proper stance."
But I wasn't listening to him. My attention was drawn like a magnet to Raven and Leora, who had settled into a conversation just a few feet away. Leora kept touching Raven's arm, her demeanor deceptively shy, punctuating her praise of Raven's strength with soft laughter. Each gentle touch made my stomach twist painfully, a knot of jealousy and frustration tightening with every passing moment.
Leonhart cleared his throat loudly, twice, as if trying to reclaim my attention. "You should consider yourself lucky," he boasted, puffing out his chest, "I'm offering to teach you myself."
I felt a wave of annoyance wash over me. All I wanted was for tomorrow to come quickly so they could leave. This was unbearable.
I forced a polite smile, the kind that felt heavy on my lips. "That's very kind, Prince Leonhart, but I've been learning from Raven since the beginning. Our styles wouldn't match. I prefer her method. But thank you."
His face soured instantly, the light in his eyes dimming to a smoldering glare. "What is so great about her?" he snapped, disdain dripping from each word. "She's just a girl. Not even a knight. Not a noblewoman."
My anger flared at his condescending tone, but before I could respond, he drew his sword with a swift motion, the blade glinting menacingly in the sunlight as he stepped toward Raven.
"I challenge you," he declared, his voice sharp and demanding. "Face me."
A collective gasp swept through the group, shock registering on the faces around us—except for Raven, who remained unfazed, her focus unbroken.
Leonhart grew angrier, his frustration morphing into something more volatile. He stomped closer, his eyes blazing with a mix of entitlement and fury. "I order you to draw your sword and face me!"
Raven slowly turned her head, her expression perfectly calm, unyielding in the face of his aggression.
"No,"
she replied, her voice steady and resolute.
The single word hung in the air, a defiance that reverberated through the courtyard. It was as if the world had paused, the tension crackling like electricity between them. I held my breath, my heart racing, caught between admiration for Raven's unwavering strength and the dread of what this confrontation could unleash.
Leonhart's face twisted with disbelief, and for a moment, I feared he might lash out. But Raven stood her ground, her aura undiminished, radiating an unshakeable confidence that only served to heighten the stakes of the moment.
As the silence stretched between them, I could feel my pulse quicken, a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling within me. This was not just about training anymore; it was a clash of wills, and I was right in the center of it all.
The single word hung in the air like a thunderclap: "No."
At that moment, Leonhart's composure shattered. His eyes, usually sharp and controlled, darkened with fury. The calm mask he wore slipped away, revealing the storm beneath.
"Who do you think you are?" His voice thundered through the hall, cold and cutting. "You're nothing but a lowborn orphan. You don't even deserve to be here! Your place is with the filth outside these walls, not within the halls of the noble!" His words were venomous, each syllable laced with contempt. "How dare you refuse me?"
Before the tension could escalate further, Leora sprang forward, her voice ringing out like a clarion call. "Leonhart! You will NOT speak to Raven like that!" She planted herself firmly in front of Raven, her stance protective and unyielding.
Cara's hand instinctively flew to the hilt of her sword, her eyes blazing with fierce determination. The air around her crackled with the promise of violence if the insult continued.
My gaze locked onto Raven. She stood there, her face an enigma—calm, unreadable, as if the storm around her was nothing but a distant murmur. How could she remain so composed in the face of such blatant disrespect? My own blood boiled. My hands trembled with the heat of my anger, and a fierce fire ignited deep within me.
I clenched my teeth until the ache was sharp and real. The injustice of it all was unbearable.
I didn't care about his noble bloodline or his title. None of that mattered. If he dared to insult Raven again, I would not stand by silently.
Stepping forward, I raised my voice, breaking the charged silence with a shout that echoed through the hall: "LEONHART!"
There were no formalities in my tone—no titles, no politeness—only pure, unfiltered anger.
"You have no right to speak to Raven like that!" My voice shook with the intensity of my rage. "Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right?!"
The room fell into stunned silence. Every eye turned toward us, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air.
Leonhart's face twisted in humiliation, the sting of defeat burning deep in his eyes. The entire crowd had turned against him—every single one had chosen Raven's side. Even his own sister, Leora, stood firmly with her. The weight of their silent judgment crushed him more than any blade could.
His pride shattered, Leonhart snapped.
Without a moment's hesitation, he drew his sword, the blade igniting with fierce, crackling flames that danced like wild fire in the dim light. The heat radiated from the weapon, casting flickering shadows across the faces of those watching. His muscles tensed, and with a roar that echoed through the training yard, he charged straight at Raven.
"DIE!" he bellowed, his voice raw with rage and desperation.
But in his blinding fury, he failed to see the figure standing resolutely between him and his target—Leora, unwavering and fearless despite the danger.
"LEORA, MOVE!" Cara's voice rang out, sharp and urgent.
But Leora was frozen, terror gripping her heart like icy chains. Time slowed, each heartbeat pounding louder than the last. She was only a breath away from death—struck down by her own brother's blazing sword.
Then, in a heartbeat that shattered the stillness, Raven moved.
With a swift, fluid motion, she reached out her left arm and pulled Leora tightly into a protective embrace. The warmth of her grip was fierce, unyielding—a shield forged of determination and raw power.
Her right hand shot upward, instantly engulfed in a swirling black aura that seemed to absorb the very shadows around it. The air crackled with dark energy as she met Leonhart's fiery blade head-on, halting its deadly advance with nothing but her bare hand.
Magic surged and pulsed, flowing from the sword into Raven's palm in a torrent of blazing heat and light. She absorbed every drop of the fire's fury, her expression unreadable but resolute. The flames flickered and died, snuffed out completely as the sword's blaze vanished into nothingness.
Then, with a sudden, bone-chilling snap, she clenched her fist and shattered the sword .
The shards fell to the ground with a heavy clatter, and the air around Raven turned icy cold, frost creeping along the edges of the training yard like a creeping winter.
Her voice cut through the stunned silence, low and threatening, yet calm as a winter storm. "Calm down," she warned, her eyes burning with quiet menace.
The world seemed to hold its breath. Silence swallowed the training yard, thick and heavy, as every soul present absorbed the raw power and unyielding will that radiated from Raven.
The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with tension and disbelief. Cara's eyes were wide, frozen in a moment of shock that refused to fade. Leonhart staggered backward, his face pale, his wide eyes reflecting a deep, raw fear that seemed to grip his very soul.
But my gaze was not on him.
No, I was drawn elsewhere—drawn to Leora.
She was still nestled in Raven's arms, a fragile figure wrapped in the protective embrace of someone who seemed to shelter her from the world. Leora's face was buried softly against Raven's chest, as if seeking solace or safety there. Raven's hand rested gently on Leora's shoulder, a silent, steadfast guardian shielding her from harm. The sight twisted my heart painfully, a sharp pang of something I couldn't quite name.
Leora slowly lifted her head, her cheeks flushed with a delicate pink, as if the warmth of the moment had set her skin aglow. Her eyes met Raven's, wide and breathless, as though she had forgotten the danger she had just escaped—the near brush with death that should have left her trembling. Instead, she seemed suspended in a fragile moment of awe and relief, caught between vulnerability and strength.
I couldn't stand it any longer. With a sudden surge of urgency, I stepped forward and seized Raven's hand, pulling her gently but firmly away from Leora's reach.
"Are you okay?" I demanded, my voice sharp with concern. "Did you hurt your hand? Let me see."
I examined Raven's hand carefully, searching for any sign of injury, any mark that might betray pain. But there was nothing—not a single scratch or bruise.
Raven's lips curved into a small, strained smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine," she said softly. "Don't worry about me."
Leora's gaze snapped to me, her eyes burning with jealousy and anger as they locked onto my hand still holding Raven's. The sharpness in her expression was unmistakable, a silent accusation that stung more than words ever could.
Leonhart, finally shaking off his shock, rushed to his sister's side. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice breaking as he whispered apologies over and over.
"I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you," he cried, his remorse filling the room with a weight that pressed down on us all.
In that moment, the fragile threads of connection and conflict between us all seemed to hang suspended, each heartbeat echoing with unspoken emotions and tangled loyalties.
The tension in the room thickened as Leora pushed Leonhart away with a force that surprised even herself. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. "Don't apologize to me," she said firmly, eyes blazing with fury. "Apologize to Raven! You insulted her. You attacked her without reason. You owe her an apology."
Leonhart's shoulders slumped, and he turned slowly toward Raven, unable to meet her gaze. His voice trembled as he spoke, weighed down by guilt and shame. "I… I'm sorry for speaking to you that way. For losing control. And… thank you for saving my sister."
Raven met his apology with a quiet, steady stare, her eyes calm but unwavering. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her words measured and sharp. "Learn when to draw your sword."
She dipped her head slightly, a subtle gesture of dismissal, then turned her attention to me. Her voice softened, almost tender in contrast to the earlier confrontation. "Thank you for worrying," she said gently. "But truly—I'm fine."
Without hesitation, she slipped her hand out of mine, a movement so delicate I hadn't even realized I was still holding on. The sudden absence of her touch sent a ripple through me, a quiet ache I tried to mask.
Before I could gather my thoughts, Cara rushed forward, her voice a rapid-fire stream of questions. How did Raven catch the flaming sword? How did she absorb the magic? How was her hand unburned? Each question hung in the air, charged with disbelief and curiosity.
Raven responded with a small nod, her attention already drifting away, focused on something beyond the room, beyond the chaos swirling around us.
She remained completely unaware of the storm she had stirred inside me—the turmoil of emotions I struggled to contain. She didn't notice Leora's hateful glare burning into my back. She was oblivious to the way my heart hammered wildly every time she was near.
And most of all, she was unaware—unaware of how desperately I longed for her to look at me again. Even if just once.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and yearning, as the world around us faded into the background.